


Hanging on in Quiet Desperation

by therearenofriendshipsinuno (dementorsatemysoup)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Fake AH Crew, Female Jack, GTA AU, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kinda, Multi, OT6, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 12:58:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12133002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dementorsatemysoup/pseuds/therearenofriendshipsinuno
Summary: A mysterious time loop forces Ryan to rethink his (and his crew's) mortality.





	Hanging on in Quiet Desperation

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last story I'm probably going to post for this fandom. I am just really proud of this one (it took me forever to write and I nearly gave up a half dozen times), so I figured I'd share it with those who have yet to read it on Tumblr. So, thanks for reading and leave me a comment if you can :)
> 
> The title is from Time by Pink Floyd

Everything can change in a single moment. That’s the biggest lesson Ryan learned when he started this whole criminal shtick. One small misstep, one simple mistake, and weeks worth of planning can fall apart in an instant. Inches can mean life or death; almost can be the difference between a huge payout and nothing. A piece of metal can determine if someone is going to walk out of a situation or end up in a body bag. Timing can mean nothing, but it can mean everything.

He learned pretty quickly there were no do-overs, no quick saves; when stuff happens, it happens, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Regrets are something he has to live with, whether he likes them or not, and sometimes he can’t save everyone.

He’s tested his own mortality more often than he’d like to admit, sometimes for the thrill, other times because he can’t control the circumstances he’s found himself in, and every time afterward he has that sobering thought that life isn’t permanent. Death is an inevitability for everyone, himself included, and one day he’s not going to get up and walk away.

Life would be a lot easier if he could hit reset, try again, erase his mistakes, but then again life isn’t easy. Wishful thinking and fairy tales are a farce, made to give children false hope for the future.

Ryan knows his future. He’s not deluding himself into thinking there’s a happily ever after for him, and no amount of optimism on Jack’s part is going to change that fact. Nothing will change, and he’s okay with it.

Isn’t he?

* * *

 

Ryan awakes to a steady drip falling onto his forehead. He opens his eyes, scowling at the leaky ceiling. Another day in the safe house; another day with that stupid leak. Geoff really needs to invest in nicer places for them to hide, especially if they’re forced to go off the grid for longer than a few days.

He sits up, wiping the wet off his forehead, squinting across the room. The other bed is empty, Jeremy already awake and most likely puttering around in the kitchen. They don’t exactly have a lot of supplies, so they’re probably having eggs again for breakfast. Ryan is so tired of eggs.

He rolls his neck, stretching his arms above his head, wincing when his bones pop. He’s getting too old to be sleeping on a camping cot, but it’s either this or the car and his back won’t thank him if he chose the latter.

He swings his legs off the cot, curling his toes when his feet hit the cold, wood floor. He rubs the sleep from the corner of his eyes, yawning. He misses his bed, misses his apartment...

He hears a crash followed by Michael screaming at Gavin.

...misses the quiet. He cannot wait until they track down this goddamn crew. After they take them out, he’s going to spend a good two weeks sleeping. Maybe longer. He hasn’t decided yet.

They know next to nothing about this rival crew. Lawrence and Autumn have been trying to help, and Gavin has done as much as he can here, but they keep hitting dead end after dead end. Geoff thinks they’re some two-bit faction that figures if they wipe out the largest crews in Los Santos they’ll be able to get their foot in the door.

They’ve already pissed Fake Chop off, setting fire to their hideout and blowing up Trevor’ apartment. With Trevor inside. He managed to get out with minimal injuries, but that doesn’t stop the rest of Fake Chop from wanting blood. Especially Aleks.

They’ve also gone after Fakehaus, putting two of their members in the hospital, and Bruce wants to see heads roll. Fake Pine hasn’t been hit yet, but Geoff thinks it’s only a matter of time, and Suptic agrees.

All of Fake AH’s allies have had to abandon the city, scattering across San Andreas in hopes of confusing the enemy, but Ryan has a feeling this is exactly what this unknown enemy wants. They’re weaker apart, easy pickings if they’re attacked at the right moment, especially with back up several hours away.

Someone knocks on his door, and Jack pokes her head inside. He looks over at her blearily and she smiles. “Geoff wants to talk to us.”

He raises one of his hands, letting her know he heard her, and she nods and closes the door. He waits another few seconds before standing up.

Out in the main room, Jeremy is sitting on the couch, nursing a mug of orange juice, Jack sitting next to him. Michael leans against the wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest, glaring at Gavin who has taken up residence at the kitchen table, computer equipment scattered across the surface.

Geoff paces across the floor, agitated and twitchy, pulling at his mustache. He’s been on edge since all this started, ever since Gus called him and told him to get out of town. He hadn’t believed him at first, but when the wrecking ball crashed through his penthouse window Geoff started taking Gus’ warning seriously.

Ryan stands behind the couch, crossing his arms, his eyes tracking Geoff’s movement. He hasn’t been sleeping, that’s obvious, and Ryan doesn’t remember the last time Geoff ate anything. He’s worrying himself into an early grave, and there’s nothing they can do about it. Not until they find the people responsible.

“Geoff, Ryan’s here,” Jack says softly, eyes kind. She’s trying so hard to be the voice of reason, to stay strong, but Ryan can see this is taking its toll on her, too. Dark, purple smudges under her eyes, hands curled into fists at her sides to keep them from shaking, body held too stiffly.

The stress is getting to them all. Michael is getting angrier the longer they’re here; Jeremy is becoming more withdrawn; Gavin is getting louder and more obnoxious. They want this over, all of them, but in the end, they might accidentally kill each other.

“Gavin and I talked to Bruce last night,”  Geoff starts, coming to a halt in front of them, clasping his hands behind him. He hangs his head, closing his eyes, an exhausted man about to deliver some bad news to his crew.

“No one died, did they?” Jack asks slowly, cautiously, and Ryan can’t help the way his stomach clenches. Fake AH and Fakehaus might not be best friends, but they’ve done jobs together; they’ve proven they can be trusted. The last thing Ryan wants to do is bury one of them.

“No one died,” Geoff reassures them quickly and a wave of relief washes over everyone in the room. “But according to Bruce’s sources, this fucking nameless crew has destroyed our office and Fakehaus’ office.” In a fit of rage, Geoff turns around and kicks the coffee table across the room. It crashes into the wall with a deafening bang, leaving behind a gouge in the drywall. “FUCK!” He starts pacing again, breathing heavily, hands on his hips. “I want these assholes! I want them dead! Do you hear me? Dead!”

“We’re trying!” Michael screams at him.

“Then try harder! It should not be this difficult!”

A heavy silence settles over the room. Michael looks like he’s going to start swinging, and Geoff’s hands are twitching, ready to defend himself. The tension is so thick, Ryan can practically taste it. Jack is halfway out of her seat, ready to break up the inevitable fight.

“I’ve got something!” Gavin suddenly exclaims, breaking up the tension, and Geoff is across the room so fast Ryan wonders if his feet even touched the floor. He leans over Gavin’s shoulder, squinting at his computer, impatiently waiting for Gavin to tell him what he found.

“After Bruce’s call, I started checking CCTV footage again,” Gavin explains excitedly, typing quickly on his computer, “and I found this.” He brings up something on the screen, and Geoff watches the video.

“What am I looking at?”

“This guy-” Gavin gestures to the screen, “-has also appeared on that CCTV stuff I found after Adam and James were attacked. He’d been standing in the crowd.”

“So...”

“He also walked by the camera on the street corner Trevor’s apartment is on moments before the place blew.”

“Let’s find this mother fucker,” Michael says, cracking his knuckles. He’s been itching to do some damage for days, any lead is better than nothing.

“That makes no sense,” Ryan says objectively. “Why would he be this careless after evading us for so long?”

Geoff sighs, frustrated, but even he knows this has all the signs of a trap. “What do you suggest we do, then?”

“Find out who this guy is, see if he has any ties to a crew and if he does figure out how his crew knows you. Get more information, and if we can find a weakness...”

“We kill these motherfuckers,” Michael finishes and Ryan nods.

Geoff hangs his head. He’s so tired, and Ryan doesn’t blame him for wanting all this done quickly; they’re all ready to go home, but they also want to live, too, and playing fast and loose like they normally do isn’t going to help them achieve that particular goal. Finally, he lifts his head and nods. “Alright, Gavin, find out what you can.”

“Already on it.”

* * *

 

As it turns out, this guy has ties to three different crews. He’s a hitman for hire, working out of some seedy motel somewhere in Sandy Shores. Ryan, Geoff, and Michael pile into the car the moment Gavin finds the address and drive out to confront the dude. It’s not the best plan, in fact, it’s downright terrible, but he’s the only one who knows which crew has hired him to terrorize Fake AH and their allies.

“Let’s not go directly to the motel,” Geoff says, loading his gun. “He probably knows we’re coming, and the last thing we need is him shooting first and asking questions later.”

Back at the safe house, Ryan tried pointing out how bad this plan is, had a complete list of why exactly this is probably the worst plan they’ve ever had, but Michael had nudged his side, shook his head, and muttered, “I get it, okay. This is definitely a trap, but it’s the only lead we’ve got.”

It’s not the trap thing that has Ryan worried. They’ve dealt with traps and ambushes before, especially during their heists, and they’re usually pretty good at getting out of them. What has him worried is the fact that they left Jeremy, Jack, and Gavin behind. What happens if this is what this crew wanted? For them to find this guy, this hitman, in order to separate them. That would mean their rivals have known where they are the entire time, and that alone makes him want to grab the wheel from Michael and turn them right back around.

Before they know it, they’re driving through Sandy Shores. Geoff has a determined look on his face, one hand gripping his gun tightly, the other clutching at the door handle. Michael parks about a block away and the three of them get out, using the cover of night to sneak towards the motel.

They split up, figuring infiltrating the place at three different sides is far safer than everyone going in the same way. Ryan heads towards the back, counting windows, stopping when he finds the right one. He tests the window, unsurprised when he finds it unlocked. This is  _definitely_  a trap.

“Window’s unlocked,” he whispers into his comm.

“ _So was the door_ ,” Michael answers quietly. “ _No one is here.”_

Ryan nods, figuring as much, and climbs inside the bathroom. He meets Geoff and Michael in the front room, everything neat and in its place. There’s an old TV sitting on the dresser, a VCR right on top. On the screen is a post-it with two words scrawled across it.

 _“_ Nice try,” Michael reads, his eyebrows furrowing. “What the hell does that mean?”

Geoff’s burner phone buzzes from his pocket. He takes it out, checking the screen, and answers it on speaker. “Jack? You alright?”

There’s a loud slam followed by the familiar pop, pop, pop of a gun. A scream follows and then Jack shouts, “ _We’re under fire!”_

Ryan feels his heart sink. He didn’t want to be right, the last thing he wanted was to be right, but here they are; too far away to help their friends.

“Jack! Jack get out of there!” Geoff screams into the phone.

“ _I’m trying,”_  Jack responds sharply. “ _They’re coming from all sides. I don’t think I can...”_  the call suddenly cuts off.

“Jack! Jack!” Geoff tries calling back, throwing his phone at the wall when she fails to answer. “Fuck!”

They rush out of the motel, full out sprinting back to their car. They pile inside, Michael turns the key in the ignition, and the entire car explodes.

* * *

 

Ryan gasps awake, heart slamming in his chest. Something drips steadily onto his forehead; the leak. The stupid leak. It had been a dream; a terrible, awful dream.

“Thank fuck,” he whispers, covering his face with a shaky hand.

He sits up, looking over at the other bed in the room. It’s empty. Jeremy must already be awake, probably has been for a while, most likely making breakfast. Ryan hopes they’re not having eggs again.

He swings his legs off the bed, wincing when his feet hit the cold floor. Today he hopes they find out more about this rival crew. He misses his apartment.

He hears a crash, followed by Michael screaming at Gavin. He gets a sudden sense of deja vu, remembering his dream, but this isn’t anything new. Michael has been on edge since they’ve gone off the grid. He yells at everyone, but Gavin is his main target.

Ryan shakes his head to clear it, bracing his hands on his thighs to push himself to his feet, but freezes when he hears a knock on his door.

Jack pokes her head in, smiling, and says, “Geoff wants to talk to us.”

“O-okay,” he responds, frowning. “Do you know what about?”

She shakes her head. “He didn’t say.”

She leaves his door open, and Ryan follows her out. He watches as she takes a seat on the couch, next to Jeremy, a glass of orange juice held between his hands. They watch as Geoff paces back and forth, pulling at his mustache. Michael leans against the wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest, glaring daggers into the side of Gavin’s head.

A sudden chill runs down Ryan’s spine, but he pushes it away. This is all just a very strange coincidence. That’s the only explanation he’ll accept as fact. He keeps telling himself that until Jack softly says, “Geoff, Ryan’s here.”

He clings to denial, clutches desperately at it, but it slips away when Geoff stops and says, “Gavin and I talked to Bruce last night.”

Ryan has never put much stock into psychics. He’s a man of logic, pure and simple, and no amount of hocus pocus is ever going to change that, but this is all too similar to his dream. Right down to what everybody is wearing, and he can’t help wondering if that dream had been a warning.

He shakes off that thought, silently scolding himself for being stupid. He doesn’t have psychic abilities, that’s completely insane,  _he_  is completely insane. This is all just a coincidence.

The coffee table crashing into the wall startles him, and he watches as Geoff has his mini-meltdown, demanding the deaths of the men responsible for their current predicament.

“We’re trying!” Michael’s voice echoes off the walls, and Ryan’s gaze snaps over to him, his face red, anger boiling in his eyes, hands curled into fists, ready to take the first swing.

“Then try harder! It should not be this difficult!”

Ryan backs away from the scene, crashing into the wall, knocking a shelf to the floor. Five sets of eyes dart towards him and he stills, eyes wide, body shaking.

“I-I...” he runs out of the room, retreating back to his bedroom. He shuts the door behind him, locking it, and sits on the edge of his bed. This isn’t happening; this is not happening.

“Ryan.” Jack knocks on the door, tries the knob, knocks again. “Why is the door locked? Ryan, come on, Gavin might have found a lead.”

A lead? If this is actually happening, Ryan knows exactly what lead she’s talking about; the same lead that led to the entire crew’s death. He buries his face in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Ryan, what the fuck.” This time, it’s Geoff calling for him; the doorknob rattles. He knocks again, harder this time, before yelling, “Jeremy, get your lock picking set!”

Ryan gets to his feet, heading towards the door, and unlocks it, pulling it open, catching Geoff when he falls into him. He pushes him back to his feet, takes a step back, and answers their unasked question with a sharp, “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Jack asks, concerned for his well-being. If she only knew what happened; what  _could_  happen. He wonders if she died trying to protect Jeremy and Gavin. It’s something she would do; he knows it.

He wishes he had his mask, but he’d left it at home in his hurry to get out of town. This would be so much easier to deal with if he had his mask. They can see his face, and he really needs them to not see his face right now.

“Give me a minute,” he says and closes the door in their faces. He paces across the wood floor, taking deep, even breaths, forcing himself to calm down and think about this logically. Logic would say his dream had been a freaky coincidence brought on by too much stress. Logic would say not everything that happened in his dream is going to happen in real life. Logic would say he’s jumping to conclusions and needs to take a step back and assess the situation.

He kind of wants to tell logic to shut the fuck up.

Ryan takes a few more seconds before returning to the living room. Gavin is still sitting at the kitchen table, showing Geoff CCTV footage that’s going to lead them to a fuckton of trouble. Jack gives him a worried look and he waves it off, moving across the room to stand next to Michael.

“What the fuck is up with you?” Michael whispers, his gaze settling on Ryan’s face.

“You wouldn’t believe me,” Ryan mutters, crossing his arms, hunching his shoulders, trying to shake the last images of his dream (vision?) out of his head. He can’t remember what the car exploding felt like, but he knows it did, and he’d like to avoid that if he can, thank you.

“Try me.”

Ryan ignores him, listening to Gavin, watching Geoff. They’re going to go to that motel, he won’t listen to Ryan like he didn’t before, and they’re all going to die again. It’s going to happen in that order, and there’s nothing Ryan can do to stop it except maybe locking Geoff in the basement.

No, he won’t accept this; there has to be a way to stop this from happening. If it is in fact actually going to happen; again his dream could have been just a dream. It hadn’t felt like  _just_  a dream, but dreams usually didn’t feel like dreams. Not always. He’s so confused.

He spends the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon stressing about whether his dream had been a vision or just really vivid. Michael and Jeremy keep asking him what’s up, Jack follows him around the house like he’s going to have a breakdown, and even Geoff is watching him cautiously. He suspects Gavin would be too, but he’s so deep in research mode, looking for the hitman, that he barely has time to go to the bathroom let alone worry about Ryan.

Ryan’s last hope is the address for the hitman’s hideout is different. If it’s not that crappy motel in Sandy Shores, if it’s somewhere, anywhere, else, he can safely say his dream hadn’t been completely true. He’s aware he’s in denial again, that’s not something that has escaped his attention, but he’s desperate. He needs this dream to be fake otherwise he’s going to have to watch his friends die again.

Not that he escaped death, but that’s not the point.

His heart sinks when the address turns out to be the same. He sees it now, Geoff, Michael, and him leaving Jack, Gavin, and Jeremy behind to get slaughtered. Just for them to get blown up mere moments afterward.

Bye, bye, Fake AH, nice knowing you. It’s enough to make him want to lock himself away in his room again and hide under his covers. He’d take fifty stupid leaks over this agony any day.

“We shouldn’t go,” Ryan says numbly, watching Geoff and Michael get ready for the drive to Sandy Shores.

“We have to go,” Geoff insists, zipping up his dark hoodie. “He could have information we need.”

“We shouldn’t go,” Ryan repeats stubbornly, needing Geoff to understand. He’s not saying this to get out of going; he’s saying this to try and keep them all alive.

“Look, Ryan, if you don’t want to go then stay here. We’re going.” Geoff storms out of the house, calling to Michael over his shoulder.

Michael looks back at Ryan, frowning, and says, “I know this sounds like a trap, but it’s the only lead we’ve got.”

“I know, but we shouldn’t go.” He knows they're going to go, whether he likes it or not, and no amount of arguing is going to stop them. So, he sighs, deciding right there he just isn't going with them. “When you get there just...” he trails off, shaking his head. “Just don't get back in the car.”

“What?”

“Don't get back in the car.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Just promise me...”

“Okay, okay, I promise,” Michael says quickly, looking like he wants to press the point, but Geoff honks, cutting off his question, and Michael runs outside, the screen door slamming behind him. Ryan listens as the car starts, waits for a beat, and then kicks up gravel as it speeds out of the driveway.

“You’re not going?” Jack asks curiously and Ryan shakes his head.

“Guess not.”

* * *

 

There comes a time in every man’s life when he has to admit that he’s scared. He doesn’t have to say it aloud, but he needs to admit it to himself, remind himself that he’s human and humans get scared, otherwise he’s going to drive himself crazy trying to be brave every second of the day. Right now, Ryan is a little scared.

Outwardly, he's not saying much, keeping to himself, checking each window constantly, waiting for the first wave of shit to hit the metaphorical fan. Geoff and Michael have been gone a little over two hours, closer to Sandy Shores than to here, and any minute now a small army is going to drive to their hideout. Ryan doesn't know when exactly, hadn't been looking at a clock during his dream (vision?) to determine specifics, but he knows it's soon; can practically feel it.

Inwardly, he's freaking out. He knows he should probably get Jack, Gavin, and Jeremy out of here, take them somewhere else, but he doesn't know where they can go or if they'd even go with him. They'd want him to explain why they were leaving and he doesn't know if he can, and even if he did he doubts they'd believe him. He's stuck between and rock and a hard place, and the harder he pushes the more he feels like he's about to get crushed.

“You want something to eat?” Jack calls from the kitchen, and Ryan shakes his head. “Okay.”

When the first car pulls up at 8:03, his back straightens and he allows The Vagabond to take over, turning to face Jack and Gavin, both sitting at the table. They look up when they feel him watching them, both confused and a little concerned, and Ryan says, “Someone's here.”

“What?” They're both out of their seats in an instant, their voices summoning Jeremy from his room, and the three of them move towards Ryan, watching as another car follows the first down the driveway.

“Who's that?” Gavin asks, his forehead pressed to the window, breath fogging up the glass.

“Trouble.” Ryan removes his gun from his jacket pocket, checks the clip, and moves away from the window. He kicks the kitchen table over, ignoring the shrill cry of anguish from Gavin when he knocks three laptops to the floor, and he takes cover behind it.

Jack is across the room in an instant, dropping down next to him, while Jeremy grabs Gavin's wrist and pulls him into a closet, leaving the door ajar, face a mere sliver as he waits for whatever is about to happen; Gavin just out of sight.

Ryan hears a window break, watching as a metal canister rolls across the floor and settles next to the couch. He pushes Jack down, squeezing his eyes shut, his ears ringing when the canister explodes. He sees a flash of light behind his eyelids, hears the door slam open, and pops up to fire three shots at whoever came running inside.

The guy drops, dead weight his friends are going to have to step over, and Ryan immediately ducks behind the table again.

“Nice shot,” Jack says.

Another window shatters, this one from the back bedroom, and he nudges Jack, nodding towards the noise. She nods back, firing at the next two men who crash through the front door. Ryan follows suit, ears tracking every bullet Jeremy and Gavin use, making sure they stay alive. He won't watch his friends die; not again.

For a while, he actually thinks they have a chance, but not every shot is a success and they aren't exactly well stocked, and there's only so much they can do when wave after wave of guys keeps coming through every opening they can find.

It's Jeremy who takes the first shot, his body falling out of the closet with a sickening thud. Gavin follows him out, clutching at his chest, blood staining his blue shirt, and Ryan's lip curls into a snarl. He fires a random shot, hitting the light above them, darkness settling over the room.

“I'm almost out,” Jack says quietly, voice shaky, breathing ragged.

“Me too,” Ryan admits, knowing they're probably not going to make it.

“What do we do?”

What  _did_  they do? That's a good question. Jeremy is dead, Gavin too most likely, and he and Jack are down to their last few bullets. This is probably it, that's for sure. Unless Ryan can get to one of the fallen men's guns, get more ammo, do something to ensure they're going to make it out of this.

“Should I call Geoff?”

“He's not going be much help.”

“Then what do we do?”

“I don't know.” Ryan doesn't mean to snap at her, but he doesn't know what to do to make this situation better.

Something clatters across the floor, landing between them, and Ryan knows, knows with every moral fiber of his being, that it's another flash grenade. This is it. They're done.

The flash grenade explodes, bright light blinding him...

* * *

 

He jerks awake, flailing so hard he falls out of bed with a loud thud. He sits up, rubbing the back of his head, listening as footsteps rush towards his room. The door flies open and Jeremy and Jack stop in the doorway, looking down at Ryan.

“You okay?” Jack asks, amused but also worried.

“Yeah, Ryan, beds are usually for sleeping, you know?” Jeremy jokes, but even he looks a little worried. They're both so concerned that someone had broken in, some enemy they don't know, and attacked him in his sleep. Neither one knows the hell Ryan just lived through for the second time.

He clears his throat, nodding his head. “I'm fine.”

“You sure?”

He's not, but he still nods again anyway. They accept his response, albeit reluctantly, and leave him alone. He shoves himself to his feet, running shaky hands through his hair, pacing back and forth. What the hell is happening to him? This sure as hell isn't psychic visions, that's for damn sure.

He rubs his eyes, jumping when he hears a familiar crash. When Michael starts screaming at Gavin, an involuntary laugh bursts from Ryan’s lips, sounding more like a sob than anything, and he sits down heavily on his bed.

He buries his head in his hands, leaning forward until his nose brushes his knee, and squeezes his eyes shut. He stays like that until Jack opens his door. He sits up, looking over at her, and says, “Lemme guess, Geoff wants to talk to us?”

Surprised, she nods and he stands up, following her out of the room. This time he crosses the room to stand next to Michael, mirroring his stance, watching as Geoff paces across the room.

“Nobody died,” he says softly to Michael, receiving a confused look for his trouble. “Trust me.”

“Whatever.”

“Geoff, Ryan’s here,” Jack says softly and Geoff stops pacing, turning to face the others, ready to deliver his bad news.

“Gavin and I talked to Bruce last night.”

“No one died, did they?”

Michael stiffens when Jack asks her question, eyes darting over to Ryan, but he refuses to look at him, keeping his gaze fixed on Gavin. He’s not exactly listening, more preoccupied with his three laptop screens, his forehead creased in concentration. Any second now, he’s going to find his lead, and this whole day will kick off again.

“No one died,” Geoff reassures everyone and Ryan can practically feel Michael’s eyes boring into the side of his head. He doesn’t know why he said anything, it’s not like Michael can do much, but he did; the damage is done.

When the coffee table hits the wall, Michael turns towards the sound and Ryan's gaze snaps back to him. He waits for a beat, listening to Geoff’s meltdown, watching for the moment when Michael is about to respond, and quickly asks, “How much damage are we talking?”

Geoff turns his attention to Ryan, taken aback by the question, and softly says, “They didn’t take out our whole building. Fakehaus’ is completely gone, but it’s not about the offices. We can get another office.”

“I know,” Ryan says slowly, “but we can’t get another crew. So, I think we should think carefully about our next move before jumping feet first into it.”

“What the hell...?” Geoff trails off when Gavin announces he found something, shooting Ryan a dubious look before crossing the room to see what Gavin dug up.

Michael leans over to Ryan and quietly asks, “What the fuck are you on?”

“Nothing,” Ryan mutters back, shaking his head. He doesn’t want to drag the others into this, but he’d opened his big mouth; had peaked Michael’s suspicions. There’s a possibility he’s not going to be able to keep this hidden for long.

Once Geoff sics Gavin’s cyber skills onto the hitman, Ryan quickly exits the room, but he hears Michael chasing after him and he rolls his eyes. He ducks into his room, letting Michael follow him, and shuts the door.

“What the fuck?”

“Don’t worry about it. You won’t believe me anyway,” Ryan says, hoping his deflecting will shoo Michael away, but deep down he knows it’s not going to be that easy.

“I am worried about it. Tell me what’s up.” Lip jutted out stubbornly, eyes determined, Michael isn’t going away. So, Ryan tells him, and like he suspected...

“That’s bullshit.”

...Michael doesn’t believe him.

“I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“You’re saying...” Michael shakes his head, scoffing in disbelief. “You’re saying the day reset itself? Twice?”

“Yes.”

“Like a fucking Bill Murray movie.”

“It’s not...” Ryan trails off, sighing in frustration, running a hand down his face. “This is why I wasn’t going to tell anyone.”

“Seriously, what are you on?”

“Michael, I swear to god...”

“What next? You gonna tell me everyone died?” He’s smirking, but it falls off his face when Ryan looks away. “Wait, are you...? We die? We _die_? Who kills us?”

“Michael...”

“No, fuck that, who kills us? Who the fuck kills us?”

“You just said it was bullshit!”

“Because it is!”

“Then why do you care if we died?!”

A heavy silence settles over the room, both Ryan and Michael glaring at each other, breathing harsh and ragged. Ryan clears his throat, sucking in a deep breath, and calmly says, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.” Michael shakes his head, chewing on his bottom lip. “What are we gonna do?”

“You’re not doing anything. This is my problem.”

“Bullshit. We’re gonna do something.”

“I tried,” Ryan admits tiredly, looking away from Michael. “Believe me, I tried and...” his gaze snaps back to Michael. “It didn’t help.”

“Well, you’ve got me. So, let’s figure out what to do.”

“Even though this is all bullshit?”

“Oh, it’s complete bullshit, but whatever. If it stops us from dying, I’ll pretend you’re not batshit crazy. Been doing it for years.”

Ryan punches his arm.

* * *

 

Their first order of business: stopping Geoff from leaving for Sandy Shores. With Michael on his side, Ryan feels they have a good ten percent chance of getting Geoff to stick around the safe house. Maybe fifteen if they’re lucky.

They start by talking to Gavin. When they sit down on either side of him, he gives them a vague grunt of acknowledgment before returning to his searching. Ryan knows he could give him the address, make this go a lot quicker, but he feels the longer they wait the better chance they have of not dying.

“You gotta tell Geoff you can’t find this dude,” Michael says in lieu of a greeting.

“What?” Gavin looks up from his laptop, giving them both affronted glares, shaking his head. “No, see, I wanna go home. I don’t like it here. The wifi is terrible, Jeremy can’t cook, Geoff is turning into a right ol’ bastard. I am not staying here any longer than I have to.”

“Tell him you can’t find him or I’ll break your goddamn computers,” Michael threatens and a dark look crosses Gavin’s face

“Look, Gavin,” Ryan starts, hoping to prevent a fist fight right here in the kitchen, “this is very important. We really need you to lie and tell Geoff you can’t find this guy.”

“Why?”

Michael and Ryan share a look, Michael clearly ready to take a hammer to Gavin’s equipment. Ryan shakes his head, silently asking him to trust him, and Michael sighs but nods.

“Gavin, I know,” Ryan says softly, leaning over so only Gavin and Michael can hear him, keeping his eyes locked on Gavin’s face.

“Know what?” The way he pales, Gavin knows exactly what Ryan is talking about, but he’s not going to admit it. Not with Michael sitting right next to him.

“I know,” Ryan repeats. Gavin swallows nervously, Adam’s apple bobbing, but he finally nods. Ryan smiles, giving him a pat on the arm, and says, “Good talk.”

“What do you know?” Michael asks looking between them.

“It’s not important.” Ryan gets to his feet, catching Gavin’s eyes, and reminds him, “Tell Geoff you can’t find the guy, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Michael gets up, chasing after Ryan. They head outside, moving towards the lone car they brought with them. Ryan gets behind the wheel, Michael slips into the passenger side, and they exchange a quick look.

“Geoff’s gonna be pissed.”

“He’ll get over it."

* * *

 

They get to Sandy Shores around noon. Their burner phones have been constantly going off since they left, the buzz sounding almost progressively angrier the more they ignore the phone calls, and Ryan has a feeling Geoff left some nasty voicemails. It’s fine, Ryan’s used to it, and he knows Michael isn’t a stranger to Geoff’s wrath. They’ll be fine.

“What’s the plan?” Michael asks when Ryan parks across the street from the motel, staring at the place with an unwavering look of determination on his face.

“We go in, I torture the fuck, and then we get out with the information.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They get out of the car, wait for an SUV to drive by, and then jog across the street. They scope the area, making sure there’s no ambush waiting for them but they’re alone.

Ryan gets to the door first, waits for Michael to join him on the other side, and then turns and kicks it open. A shrill scream startles him, and he peeks inside to see a woman wearing a towel.

“Wrong room?” Michael asks curiously.

Ryan notices the half-packed suitcase laying on the bed, and he realizes while this isn’t the wrong room, it’s the wrong time of day.

“I’m calling the police,” the woman screams, reaching for her cell phone.

“We’ve gotta go,” Ryan says, closing the door. Both race back towards their car, but they skid to a halt when a patrol car slowly drives around the corner.

“What do we do?”

Ryan hangs his head. Unless he wanted the entirety of Sandy Shores PD up their asses, they had two choices: flee or jail. Ryan wants to flee so bad, but he knows they can’t leave town. Not now. They have to be here when the hitman shows up, and there aren’t a lot of places they can hide in this small town.

“Ryan, what do we do?”

Ryan watches as the police officer receives the radio call, his gaze falling on Michael and Ryan, his car coming to a complete stop right in front of them, and that’s when Ryan’s decision is made for him...

“Can I help you, officer?”

...they’re going to jail.

* * *

 

The woman doesn’t press charges, and they’re released a few hours later. It’s a testament to Gavin’s skills, that their fingerprints come back clean. Ryan knows for a fact that he’s wanted in at least six states. He’s not sure about Michael, but no one in their crew is squeaky clean. He definitely has a record.

“Thank fuck that’s over,” Michael says following Ryan out of the police station.

“Yeah.”

They make the short walk back to the motel, and Ryan checks his watch. Five minutes to seven. A minor setback in their plan, but it won’t be dark for another hour. They still have time.

They get back to the motel, sticking to the shadows as best as they can, hiding out behind a dumpster to avoid getting spotted by a squad car. When they’re sure he’s gone, they carefully cross the street and walk towards the hitman’s room.

“Same plan?” Michael whispers and Ryan nods. “Good.”

He turns, kicking the door open much like Ryan had earlier, and flies back when a loud crack from a shotgun explodes from the room. Ryan turns, stomach clenching when he sees Michael hit the ground.

He coughs, choking on his blood, and Ryan rushes towards him, dropping down next to him on his knees.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Ryan says cradling his head in his hands. “You’re gonna be okay. You hear me.”

“R...Ryan...” Michael’s chest stills, glassy eyes staring at the sky, and Ryan lets out a harsh, shaky breath.

“Oops,” an oily voice says from behind him, but before he can react another loud crack echoes off the trees.

Pain flairs through Ryan’s back, and...

* * *

 

He gasps awake and immediately starts coughing. He sits up, leaning forward, trying to get air back into his lungs. A phantom pain runs down his back and he winces, shoulders hunching, and he squeezes his eyes shut, struggling to breathe through it.

It takes minutes, but he’s finally able to draw in a deep breath. Then another and another and another and soon the pain eases and he’s able to sit up straighter.

He hears a crash from the other room, followed by Michael screaming at Gavin, and he breathes a sigh of relief. It’s good to hear Michael’s voice, loud and abrasive, and not broken and breathy as he struggled to say his last words. Ryan hopes he never has to hear that again.

He sits in bed for a while, staring at the wall, wondering if he’s actually going crazy. Time has reset three times, and each time he has been unable to stop his friends from dying. What is he missing? What is he supposed to do to stop this?

Someone knocks on his door and Jack pokes her head inside and smiles at him. “Geoff wants to talk to us.” Her smile drops when she sees the look on his face and she pushes the door open, walking across the room to sit on the edge of his bed. “Are you okay?”

He wants to lie and tell her he’s fine, but the words stick in his throat. He cannot do it again; he will not do it again.

“Ryan?”

“I don’t know what to do, Jack,” he whispers, eyes haunted, anguish clearly on his face. “What do I do?”

“About what?”

He can’t get her involved. He tried with Michael and look what happened; he ended up dying in a parking lot of a motel that probably hasn’t been sprayed for bugs since the 1970′s.

“Ryan? About what?” Jack reaches out, gently touching his face, trying to get him to talk to her, but he can’t. He can’t talk to anyone; not if he wants them to stay alive.

He brushes off her hand and her concern, murmuring, “Nothing. Everything is fine.”

Hurt flashes across her face, but she nods, getting to her feet. “Okay,” she says softly, nodding again. “Okay.”

She leaves him alone, shutting the door behind her, and Ryan gets out of bed. He quickly gets dressed, listening at the door to make sure no one is going to come looking for him, and then climbs out of the window.

He’ll deal with this on his own; it’s the only way to ensure everyone else is going to make it out of this alive. He’ll stake out the motel, find out when exactly the hitman checks in, and then confront him. It’s the only way to keep his friends safe.

Or so he tells himself.

* * *

 

He hitches a ride to the bus station, purchases a ticket, turns his burner phone off, and pretends for a while he’s just another person running from his problems. He makes it to Sandy Shores around 10:30, grumbling to himself as a child kicks his seat repeatedly the entire ride.

He steals some shitty truck from behind a clothing store, parks half a block away from the motel, uses the shadows to walk the rest of the way, and climbs into the window of the room three down from the hitman’s. As long as no one tries to check in, and by the state of the place he doubts anyone would unless desperate, he should be fine.

He camps out there all day, watching as the woman he and Michael scared leaves around 11:30. She’s picked up in a cab, shoves her suitcase into the trunk, checks her phone, and gets into the back. As they pull out, the sole motel employee wanders over to the now vacant room, hides something under the welcome mat, and then has a cigarette before heading back into the office. Ryan makes note of this, knowing it’s too weird to be a coincidence, and he continues his stakeout.

He alternates between checking the window, pacing the room, and staring at his phone. He knows he should turn it back on, but that’d just be a reminder that he’s not there; he’d left them to follow this lead. They’re going to get attacked by a shitload of men and he’s here, trying to track down a hitman that has managed to elude them for most of the past week and a half.

He reminds himself that Gavin is also going to find this lead. That Geoff and Michael will most likely show up here, leaving Jack with Jeremy and Gavin. He’s beginning to question his decision to come here.

He hears a car pull up and heads towards the window, pushing the curtain aside. He watches as a man gets out of a cab. His dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail, his eyes hidden behind a pair of black sunglasses, and his hands are wrapped tightly around a black bag. He matches the description of the man Ryan had seen on the grainy CCTV footage Gavin dug up, but he’s not holding his breath. He’s been duped before; he’ll wait to see which room he goes into before making a move.

The guy pays his cabby and watches him drive away. The moment he sees taillights, he cranes his head towards the main office, checking to see what the desk clerk is doing, and then heads towards the room Ryan had been hoping he’d go towards. He crouches down to flip the welcome mat over, and Ryan has enough time to see a glint of something silver before the guy palms it and stands back up, turning back to the door.

It’s time.

Ryan climbs out of his bathroom window, sneaking towards the hitman’s room. He eases that window open, climbing in as quickly and quietly as he can, pressing his back against the bathroom’s wall. He stills his breathing, listening to the hitman as he tries to unlock the lock, jingling telling him it had been a set of keys the motel manager left behind.

It makes sense, the motel manager being involved; it keeps the hitman from getting caught especially if he’s constantly operating out of this place. A readily made alibi. It wouldn’t surprise Ryan in the slightest if the hitman somehow owned the motel. He’d have to ask Gavin to look into it at some point; if the day doesn’t reset itself again.

The door opens slowly, squeaking on unoiled hinges. He hears the lamp flick on, light spilling into the open bathroom door, illuminating the ugly green tile in a friendly yellow.

The hitman shuffles around a bit, unloads stuff, makes a few phone calls. They’re mostly about payments he hasn’t gotten yet, but one is about a huge payout he expects to get by the end of the week if they don’t renege. Whoever hired him either isn’t paying or hasn’t paid enough. It’s not Ryan’s problem that the dude is getting screwed by his employers. The only thing that matters is that oily voice. Ryan will remember  _that_  to his dying day. This is definitely the guy.

Finally, after ending his last phone call, he heads towards the bathroom, snapping the light on, and Ryan moves, slamming the door into his face. He staggers back, clutching at his nose, swearing loudly.

“Yeah, fuck you, too.” Ryan maneuvers around the door, grabbing the guy by the shoulder and throwing him into the bathroom. He slides across the floor, landing against the tub with an audible “ _oof.”_

He looks up at Ryan, blood dripping from his nose and sliding down his lips, and grins. “Vagabond.”

“I was hoping you’d know me.” Ryan kicks the bathroom door shut. “And I’m hoping you know my reputation.”

The hitman huffs, amused, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he shoves himself to his feet, and with a primal war cry, tackles Ryan. They crash through the door, landing in a tangled heap among wood shards and sawdust in the main room.

Ryan rolls onto his side, winded, coughing. He’s never gone through a door before, never thought it was possible, and wonders how many more safety code violations this place is in danger of failing.

The hitman stands up first, pulling his leg back and kicking Ryan in the side. He grunts, curling in on himself, taking a second to catch his breath. He rolls away when he senses the hitman move again, narrowly avoiding another kick to the ribs, and scrambles to his feet.

“I could retire off the money I’d make for killing you,” the hitman says, pulling a knife from his coat pocket.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Ryan says and punches the guy in the face.

His head snaps to the side, but he keeps a tight hold of his knife. He swings it up, aiming for Ryan’s chest, and Ryan jumps back. The hitman swings down and Ryan catches his wrist, squeezing tightly, trying to dislodge the knife from his grasp.

There’s a pop, the hitman screams, and the knife falls to the floor with a dull thud. Ryan uses the moment of weakness to his advantage, headbutting the hitman in the face, and he drops to his knees.

Ryan draws back, punching the hitman in the face, and he drops like a ton of bricks.

“Enjoy that retirement.”

* * *

 

“Hey.” Ryan slaps the hitman. “Hey, wake up.” He slaps him again and the hitman starts to stir. “That’s it, motherfucker. Wake up.”

He blinks twice, slowly shaking his head. He opens his eyes, disoriented for a few seconds, but when the situation catches up to him he tugs on the zip ties keeping him in the crappy motel chair.

“Good, you’re awake,” Ryan says, picking up the hitman’s knife. He runs his thumb down the blade, scoffing at how dull it is, and shakes his head. “How am I supposed to kill you quickly with this blade?” He throws the knife aside, pulling out his own switchblade, and flicks it open. The light catches the blade, and he smiles. “Much better.”

“You don’t scare me,” the hitman says defiantly, but his body tells a different story. He’s watching the blade cautiously, his hands curled into fists, and he tugs at his binds again.

“I beg to differ.” Ryan steps forward, resting the tip of his blade against the hitman’s cheek, and murmurs, “If you answer my questions, I’ll make your death quick. If you don’t...” he digs the blade into the man’s face, drawing blood, and the hitman hisses in pain. “Well, let’s just say, I’ve got all the time in the world.”

* * *

 

Contrary to popular belief, Ryan doesn’t actually like torturing people, but sometimes it’s a necessary evil; like taxes or going to the dentist. In his younger criminal days, he found he was quite good at getting someone to talk with the right amount of pressure, and he usually became a crew’s last resort when it came to getting information out of someone. Mostly because his idea of torture never left anyone alive.

The hitman screams when Ryan yanks the hot knife out of his eye. Tears of pain stream down his face, snot dribbling from his nose, and he struggles to catch his breath.

“Feel like talking yet?” Ryan demands, wiping his knife off on the hitman’s pants. “Who hired you to take out our crew? Who wants Fake AH dead? Who?”

“S-she’ll... she’ll kill me.”

“She?”

The hitman's face turns white, eyes widening. He hadn’t meant to say that, it’s obvious, and he quickly tries to back pedal. “T-they. I meant.... I meant they...”

“No, you didn’t.” Ryan turns back to the flickering candle, holding his blade in the flame. “Who’s she?”

“I-I...”

When the tip of the blade glows orange, Ryan turns back to the hitman. “Who is she?” The hitman shakes his head, true fear in his one remaining eye. “Now, now, it’s a simple question. Who? Is? She?”

A window shatters behind Ryan, and the hitman slumps forward, a neat bullet hole right between his eyes. Ryan drops to the floor, listening to the unmistakable sound of squealing tires. He quickly crawls towards the door, hoping to see who shot him, but when he carefully pokes his head outside he doesn’t see anything. Whoever they are they’re long gone.

He hears a buzzing coming from the hitman’s pocket and he shuffles back to the dead man. He pats him down, looking for his phone, finding it in his jacket pocket.

He pulls it free, looks at the screen, and answers, “Your hitman can’t come to the phone right now.”

“I know,” a woman’s voice replies. “Who do you think had him killed? You’ve been a bad boy, Mister Haywood.”

“Are you going to punish me now?”

The woman laughs and says, “I’ll be sure to tell your crew you said hi.” The line goes dead and Ryan stands stock still for a few seconds before dropping the phone and running outside.

He steals the first car he sees, not even paying attention to the witnesses, and drives well above the speed limit the entire way back to the safehouse. He’s surprised he’s not pursued by half the police in San Andreas, but even if they tried to pull him over he wouldn’t have stopped. Nothing could make him stop this vehicle.

He gets back to the safe house just as the sun is setting, leaving the car at the end of the driveway, his heart in his throat when he sees the small cabin on fire. He stumbles towards it, shielding his eyes from the flames, wondering if any of his crew managed to get out. Were any of his friends alive?

“Mister Haywood,” someone calls and he turns towards her voice, breath catching in his throat when he sees a familiar woman standing over a kneeling, bleeding Geoff, pointing a gun at the back of his head.

“You?”

“Me.”

She’s the same woman he and Michael scared, the same woman he saw leaving the motel room earlier that day, and a few things click into place. This is why the hitman set up the shotgun trap, she must have warned him when he kicked her door in, and it makes sense why she’d be staying in the same room as the hitman. She probably leaves him payments and targets; no one would suspect a lone business woman just desperate enough to stay in a fleabag motel.

“I’m going to stop you,” Ryan says softly and the woman smirks.

“I’d like to see you try.” And she pulls the trigger.

* * *

 

“NO!” Ryan screams, sitting up in bed, and he hears footsteps rushing towards his room.

The door flies open and the rest of the crew all run into the room with their guns drawn. Ryan’s heart is hammering in his chest and he’s shaking way too hard to pretend everything is okay.

Jack lowers her gun, rushing across the room, and sits down next to him, touching the side of his face. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“We thought you were getting attacked,” Geoff says quietly, nerves already frayed enough that he’s too tired to be worried.

“What happened?” Jack repeats, stroking his hair, and for a brief second Ryan allows himself to enjoy the contact.

He pulls his knees up, wrapping his arms around them, and softly says, “I-I can’t do it again.”

“Do what?”

He shakes his head, burying his face in his arms. He can’t get them involved, he won’t get them involved, but he’s just so tired. He doesn’t mean to tell them, images of Michael’s blood-splattered body creeping along in the back of his mind, but he hears himself blurt out, “Time keeps resetting.”

“What?” He knows they’re all staring at him like he’s crazy, but he doesn’t care. He might be crazy, but he knows what’s going on, and he’s not going to let their skepticism (or himself for that matter) stop him from telling them.

When he’s finished talking, he notices Jack has put some space between them and Geoff paces across his bedroom floor with a crazed look on his face. The lads stand in the doorway, looking equal parts wary and concerned, and Ryan knows if this day ends in another reset he’s never telling them again.

Geoff stops, turning to face Ryan, and slowly says, “You’re...” He trails off, shaking his head. He paces a bit more, gesturing helplessly with his hands, stops again, and says, “Look, I know the stress is getting to us...”

“It’s not stress, Geoff.” Stress might be a small factor, but Ryan knows that’s not everything. “It’s not...” He draws in a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and says, “I know this sounds crazy...”

“Understatement,” Michael chimes in, but the others ignore him.

“...but I also know what’s been happening.” He’s experienced all their deaths, in some form or another, and he won’t do it again. “I-I’ve seen the crew’s leader; I know where her hitman is located; I know she’s planning an attack on the hideout today. I know all of this.”

“How?” Geoff demands. “Because the day keeps resetting? That’s not possible, Ryan.”

“It is. It is possible.” He’s desperate for the others to believe him; needs them to believe him more than he’s needed anything in his life. He’d been serious when he told Jack he couldn’t watch them die again. He  _won’t_ watch them die again.

“Let’s say we believe you,” Geoff starts, humoring him, and Ryan sighs but gestures for him to continue. “Why are you the only one going through this? Why not any of the rest of us?”

“I don’t know.” Honestly, Ryan hadn’t given it much thought, too caught up in the craziness to actually ask questions, but Geoff did raise a good point. Why is he the only one experiencing this? Why not anyone else? Why is he so fucking special?

“If there’s any way we could prove what you’re telling us is true.” Jack is trying so hard to be the voice of reason, and Ryan can’t help the self-deprecating smile that appears on his face. Proof? Of course, they wanted proof, but it’s kind of hard to find proof when the day keeps resetting itself.

“Would looking at the CCTV footage help?” Gavin asks quietly and Ryan’s head snaps up. “It’s worth looking, innit? Maybe this lady is lurking in the background.” It’s not exactly confirmation that he believes Ryan, but at least Gavin is trying.

“Okay, let’s look.”

* * *

 It’s a testament to how on edge he’s been that Ryan nearly cries when the woman appears in the background of three different pieces of footage. He’d spent the entire time lurking over Gavin’s shoulder, certain they weren’t going to find anything, that he nearly missed her the first time.

Gavin does a quick scan of her face and her RAP sheet pops up. She’s the leader of some small time crew out of Liberty City, has been arrested half a dozen times, and is wanted in five different countries. Geoff also recognizes her the moment he sees her face.

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters shaking his head.

“What?”

“She tried to rob me once, back when I was living in Vice City, and I had her entire crew killed.” He shakes his head, huffing humorlessly. “At least I thought I did.”

It is times like these that Ryan is reminded just how ruthless Geoff can be; that he hadn’t become the leader of their crew because of his superb negotiating skills. No one fucks with Geoff Ramsay and gets away with it, and this woman is no exception.

“Look, Ryan, I’m not saying we believe you...”

“But,” Michael supplies and Geoff gives him a deadpan stare.

“...but, I think I have a plan.”

* * *

 

Ryan waits until the woman leaves the motel before telling Jack to land the helicopter. She nods, setting it down right next to the waiting cab, and Ryan waits a few seconds before jumping out.

He points his gun at the woman, stopping her from reaching for any weapons she might be hiding, and says, “Get in the helicopter.”

Something dark slithers across her face, but her voice sounds scared when she stammers, “I-I don’t know w-who you are. I’ll call the police.” She pulls her cell phone from her pocket, but Ryan shoots it out of her hand.

“I’m not fucking around! Now!”

She drops her act and says, “Is that any way to treat a lady, Mister Haywood?”

He gestures towards the helicopter with his gun and she sighs but walks forward, getting inside. He follows her, tapping Jack on the shoulder once he’s sitting down, and she nods and takes flight.

“Took you long enough to find me,” the woman says, leaning back in her seat, the embodiment of relaxed. “How did you find me anyway? Have your hacker friends finally stepped up their game?”

Ryan doesn’t respond, keeping his gun trained on her, and she smirks. She looks behind her, watching the scenery for a brief moment, before letting her gaze settle on Ryan again.

“You think you’ve won? You and your crew?” She shakes her head, sighing softly. “My crew is the least of your concerns...”

“Are you talking about the army that’s waiting to strike at your say so?” Something akin to surprise flickers across her face and it’s Ryan’s turn to smirk. “You think I didn’t know about that.”

“I’m not the one pulling the trigger,” she shoots back.

“If you're talking about your hitman, I know a couple of people who want to see him dead.” Ryan figures Aleks, Bruce, and James have probably ambushed the hitman by now, all three hiding out in the room he and this woman have been conspiring in; they’ve been instructed to set the motel on fire the moment they’re done and Aleks had been more than happy to oblige.

“Once you two are out of the way, we’re going to start picking off your crew one by one until you’re nothing more than a bothersome fly.” Ryan tilts his head, giving the woman a mocking smile. “What? Nothing to say now?”

Her lip curls into a snarl and she says, “Bravo, Mister Haywood. You figured out my big, bad plan.”

“I did.” She doesn’t need to know he had help, and secretly he hopes the day doesn’t reset itself. This moment of triumph can’t be recreated, no matter how many times he relives it.

“You’re just forgetting one small thing.”

“And that is?”

She leans into him and whispers, “I have nothing left to lose.”

Ryan thinks she’s going to try and grab his gun, maybe pull out a gun of her own, and his initial reaction is to shout out to Jack, warn her, but the words get caught in his throat when the woman throws herself at Ryan, a jagged looking switchblade held tightly in her hand.

Caught off guard, he feels the knife slide into his body, and he falls back, right out of the helicopter. The woman follows him out, but he loses track of where she goes, more preoccupied with the fact that he’s plummeting towards the ocean.

They’d almost had it; they’d almost beat her, but she had the last laugh. Now the day is most likely going to reset itself. He’s going to wake up on that exact same camping cot, with that exact same leak, in that exact same cabin, and nothing will have changed. The only silver lining is he didn’t have to watch his friends die this time.

 _At least there’s that,_  is the last thing he thinks before he hits the water.

* * *

 

He hears a hushed voice, but he can’t quite make out the words. He feels something soft brush against his forehead and he wonders if he died. It’d make sense, he did get stabbed and fall out of a helicopter, but if he’s dead why is he in pain.

“...you with me?” the hushed voice again, this time loud enough that he can finally make out the words. “Ryan, hon, c’mon. Wake up.”

He murmurs, turning his head, and slowly opens his eyes. He’s lying on the beach, his head resting in Jack’s lap, and she’s looking down at him with a relieved smile on her face, wet hair hanging limply in her face.

“Oh thank fuck,” she said softly, leaning forward to kiss his forehead.

“Stop.” He tries to bat her away, but he can’t quite get his limbs to cooperate. He tries to pick his head up, but he’s too tired to move, and instead, he asks, “Where’s... where’s...?”

“She’s over there.” Jack gestures somewhere behind her, a disgusted look on her face. “I think she drowned, but I don’t know for sure.”

Ryan doesn’t believe her, but he doesn’t call her out on it either. He coughs, wincing when a spike of pain erupts from his chest. He wonders if he’s dying, but Jack must read the question on his face because she shakes her head.

“You’re going to be fine.” He’s not sure who she’s trying to convince: him or herself. He nods anyway, humoring her, and coughs again.

“Did... you drag me... from the ocean?” he asks, trying to ignore the chill that creeps down his spine.

“I did.” Jack looks up, forehead furrowing with worry. “Geoff said he’d meet us here. I-I can’t fly the helicopter and take care of you.”

“Just.... leave...”

“No. Fuck you, no.” She shakes her head stubbornly, clutching him tightly. “You’re going to be fine. You had to watch us die, every single one of us, and now you expect me to watch you die. No.”

“Jack...”

“No, stop. I-I’m not going to watch you die, damn it.”

Ryan finally manages to get his arm to work, reaching up to brush away the tears on Jack’s face with his fingertips. He draws in a shaky breath and whispers, “Is... it bad... if I don’t... want the day... to reset?”

“If you die, the day better reset or I’ll walk into hell and drag your ass back from the dead myself,” Geoff says stalking towards them, the rest of the lads following on his heels.

He drops down next to Ryan and Jack, checking over Ryan’s stab wound, and sucks in a sharp breath. He turns to Michael and Jeremy and says, “Help me.”

They nod, stepping forward, while Gavin pulls his cell out to call Burnie. It hurts to be lifted, but Ryan keeps silent as they move him from Jack’s lap to the helicopter. He’s put on one of the seats, somehow ending up with his head in Michael’s lap.

“You’re bleeding all over my jacket,” Michael complains but he can’t quite keep the worry off his face.

“I-I’ll buy you another one.”

“Is that a promise?”

Ryan shrugs, shivering. He fights to keep his eyes open, but it’s a losing battle. As he feels himself sink back into unconsciousness again, despite his friends telling him to stay awake, he can’t help hoping the day doesn’t reset. He’d die a thousand times if he didn’t have to relive this day again.

* * *

 

**_1 Month Later..._ **

Ryan is still cautious when he wakes up in the morning. He expects to be in that cabin again, the ceiling leaking on his forehead, the spring from his camping cot digging into his back, and he’s always pleasantly surprised when he finds himself in his own bed.

He can’t explain why time reset itself, and it hasn’t happened again since, but he’s not going to complain either. His friends are alive, and he’s alive (somehow), and while he’ll forever live with the memory of watching everyone he cares about die, he’s learned to appreciate the time he has with them.

Also, he totally owes Michael a new jacket, but he hasn’t asked about it yet and until he does Ryan is going to keep “forgetting.”


End file.
